


Love Lockdown

by xxx_Young_Blood_xxx



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff and Humor, I honestly have no idea what I am doing, M/M, Patrick's a little shit, and like every other curse word, first fic, overuse of the f bomb, possible Christmas fluff, so is Pete but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_Young_Blood_xxx/pseuds/xxx_Young_Blood_xxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>News reporter Patrick Stump kind of has a stalker. And his name is Pete Wentz. And for some goddamn, unknown reason, he's falling in love with his big, stupid smile and his warm, stupid eyes and his cocky, stupid attitude.</p><p>He was fucked from the start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ice Skating and Sightseeing and Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic here. I am open to ideas and suggestions if you guys have some, just comment them and I will totally read and take them into consideration.
> 
> Oh, and not sure if it matters, but I envisioned all of the characters' physical appearances in the present day. As in 2013-2014. Okay, I'll stop rambling. Enjoy! :)

"Yo Pat, there's your boyfriend."

The news reporter sighed at his currently cackling cameraman, Dirty (literally no one knew his real name), and ran a numb hand over his equally numb face. He knew he should've worn gloves, but he definitely was not going to shake and shiver on television and when he returned home have Brendon smirk and state his infamous 'told you so, Stump'. 

His sigh egressed as four single, thin, gray lines in the winter air which merged together, then dissipated, when his fingers stopped their travel on his lips. The warm breath heated his fingers for about a second, and then tragically, it was gone. 

Patrick didn't risk a glance to the man who was, more than often he noticed, in the interviews or reports he did. He only exhaled, sort of like a horse, lips smacking against each other repeatedly and cheeks puffing out, shutting his eyes in annoyance. He tried telling himself that the man who seemed to follow him around was a coincidence, maybe he's just a busy guy and gets around. But a busy guy just so happening to take a walk at three in the morning in Central Park in 10 degree weather? Patrick was a little skeptical. 

That time was weird, the guy just stood around, only lifted his head in a shy manner when Patrick walked by, opened his mouth, then shut it. As if he wanted to say something. 

Like he said, weird.

It's just, stalking kind of seemed like the most sensible answer once he really thought about it. 

He really, really tried to ignore the guy.

"Shut the hell up." Patrick smoothed down his black, leather jacket that didn't hold nearly enough warmth and coughed a couple of times into his covered forearm. The carbon dioxide dispersed in wispy small sheets then disappeared, and Patrick cleared his mind of mostly everything. Mystery Guy, the bitter cold, how bad he might screw up- shit. Shit, he always fucking did this to himself- 

"Lunchbox! On in three, two-" 

Every fucking time- 

Dirty mouthed the word 'one' and pointed at him one second later, a red dot appearing next to the lense of the camera. Patrick stood still, lips drawn into a tight line while he tried to compose himself. Behind Dirty, the mystery man strolled leisurely, through the whole set and everything, ignoring the glares sent his way. He made an 'okay' sign with his right hand, thumb and index finger creating a somewhat circle and grinned at him, then left the set. 

Oddly, Patrick felt a bit better and cleared his throat, brushed off the burst of confidence that _so_  did not come from Stalker Guy, sucked in a breath, and slapped on a convincing fake smile. "Sorry Spencer; it's so cold out here that I was frozen for a second!" He laughed softly into his mic (God, he was so cheesy) and stepped to the side a bit, raising a hand to the tame flurry behind him.

"As you can see, we're experiencing a slight snowstorm, and it- as well as the temperature -will become worse tonight around nine, and throughout tomorrow. It is currently 16 degrees at the moment but it will definitely drop in a few hours. We're expecting 15 to 17 inches of snow, starting tonight. Talk about a snowfort! There's going to be more than enough snow for everyone in Chicago. No school for kids or work for adults obviously, but stock up on groceries now before stores close! It will be two days before they reopen and the roads are cleared. Let's take a few people's points of views on this weather."

Patrick strolled over to a young woman close to his age, 19, seeming around college age: 18 to 20, with short brown hair that stuck out messily from her knit beanie and framed her rosy cheeks. He smiled down at her, she was shorter than him. 

Shorter than five and a half feet.  Damn. 

"Hello ma'am, what do you think about this weather? Do you enjoy winter in Chicago?" He tipped the microphone down and toward the woman's face.

The mousy haired girl smiled softly and rolled her eyes. "Not particularly. Makes it harder to get everywhere and when snow falls here, it friggin' _falls_ , man. Besides, I don't really pay attention to the outside. I'm usually curled up in a blanket inside with hot chocolate and watching 'Elf' or somethin'." Her voice was low and sounded a bit sickly but her response made Patrick laugh, because ironically, that's exactly what he did as well. He thanked her and moved onto another interviewee. 

The mystery man popped up out of nowhere like a snake, he was quiet and no one noticed him until he bit. And by bit, Patrick meant shoving the man he was currently speaking to out of the way so that he could talk. 

The first guy stumbled backwards into a bench, almost falling over. He gave Mystery Man the finger but he paid no mind. No one did, really. Everyone was still in shock of what Stalker Dude had just done. 

"Feel- ...um, well, alright, seems we have an eager one here." Patrick half smiled and swore he felt sweat on the back of his neck even though it was pretty much freezing temperatures.

_Just be cool_. 

He almost rolled his eyes at his own pun that didn't intend to be serious. 

_You've seen this guy before, why are you freaking about it now? Get over yourself, Stump._

**_Maybe because the dude has been stalking me for a month now and I'm worried he's going to assassinate me or something_.  **

Okay, he needs to stop internally arguing with himself. 

"Well sir, what do _you_ \- how does this weather make you feel?" The man sniffed and grinned wide as if hearing Patrick's voice was the greatest Christmas gift ever. "How it makes me feel? I'm not sure, but it almost immerses me in a, mm," the man rubbed his chin with his middle and index fingers horizontally, and furrowed his thick eyebrows almost comically in thought. 

"Magical feeling, would you say?" 

The mystery guy's expression relaxed and he grinned once more, causing Patrick's chest to tighten a bit. "Exactly. And it makes me want to ice skate and sightsee with a special someone. The city's especially awesome at this time of year." He shrugged in a nonchalant manner, but his eyes held a different emotion and his smile seemed devious. This guy was like, the definition of shady. "You know what else is awesome this time of year?"  Patrick raised an eyebrow as the other reached into his coat pocket. 

Oh God, Stalker Guy was gonna shoot or knife him or something- 

"Mistletoe." The man removed a small branch with two forest green leaves and a few berries that grew on it, held it over both of their heads and kissed Patrick on his cold, pale cheek, letting a toothy smile break out onto his features like there was a crack in the Hoover dam or some shit.

...Wait what just happened?

The reporter felt his face radiate heat and cheeks regain some feeling in them as he kept (but almost failed to) his calm, turning toward the camera. "Well, umm, I-" he cleared his throat as he saw out of the corner of his eye that the man toned his grin down a notch, a smug smile replacing the first. He looked too damn pleased with himself and Patrick internally fumed. 

The cocky fuck.

He didn't know what to say, he was caught so off guard, he hadn't imagined this ever happening to him during and interview. "Uh, well, all I can say is..." words were knocked around and became jumbled in his head, and it suddenly became challenging to speak; "e-everyone keep spreading that holiday cheer like that guy! Be safe out there!" 

Patrick was so distraught that he didn't even say his name, which was like, a really big deal in Channel 4 News. Like, super big. Because if you did an interview or a report, awesome, good, four for you Glen Coco, but who cares what you just did if you didn't say your name? No one knew who you were and therefore, no one cared or watched the news again to specifically see you. The news didn't get any more or new viewers, and no viewers means no paycheck and Patrick really needed a freakin' apartment for himself so he could escape from all of Brendon's shenanigans that he was forced into on a daily basis. So, yeah, when Patrick realized what he'd just done and that Dirty thought he did the right thing by ending the filming immediately after he'd finished, he was pretty goddamn mad. 

He was probably overthinking everything, but- whatever. 

Dirty immediately cut him off after his last sentence and took his mic, giving the mystery man a nervous, then a 'you're-in-so-much-trouble', look before he left to put the equipment away and help clean up on set.

Patrick on the other hand, grasped the other's jacket collar and dragged him toward a secluded area away from the crew.  Mystery guy only smiled at him like there wasn't a bad thing that existed in the world.

"I just- okay, okay look. I- you- that was totally uncalled for, I don't even fucking _know_  you and you just come here and _kiss me_  on the news-" Patrick yelled angrily, crossing his arms in a pouty way. But the man simply leaned forward and kissed Patrick's cheek again, cutting him off and shutting him up and leaving him with a faint pink blush and pissed expression on his face. 

"I want to take you out to go ice skating and sightseeing tonight." 

Patrick glared with fire in his eyes. He was this guy's 'special person' he wanted to take out? He didn't even fucking know Patrick! 

"What makes you think you have the fucking _right_ to kiss me like that you asshole?"   Patrick shoved the man but he barely budged, and he now looked a bit sad.

It was like a little kid let go of his balloon and was watching it float away into the sky.

Or kicking a puppy. 

The man sighed and began to ramble. "I-I'm sorry, okay? I just, saw you reporting one day and thought, "Oh, that dude looks really cool.", and I, look, I really like you but never had the courage to talk to you before. I really don't know why I shoved that guy out of the way, I guess it was kind of on impulse or something, but I just, had to talk to you then. Like, _right then_. The mistletoe thing was a little much-" 

"You _think_?" Patrick ignored how the other's confession caused his heart to skip half a beat, this guy was a douchebag and nothing more. 

Stalker Guy exhaled heavily through his nose, smoke-like air running away behind him, and calmed down. "-I get it. So, can we start over? Please?"

Patrick leaned back a little and looked the other up and down, gave him a one-up. Yeah, he was pissed and was going to be the laughing stock of his family and friends for a good while, but... the guy looked like he regretted what he did and seemed so sincere about the whole thing- 

Ugh. 

The reporter really wishes he didn't give as many second chances as he did.

He huffed, exasperated, a mini cloud dispatching toward the man's face. "...Fine." A gentle wind blew, picking up and swirling some loose snow around the two of them. Patrick fixed his scarf so that it covered his face up to the bottom of his nose, one because it was cold as shit, and second was so that the guy didn't try to kiss him again. Patrick glared up once more at the other's brown eyes. Bastard.

A happy and possibly even proud grin appeared on the man's lips once more despite Patrick's malicious stand. "Pete. I, uh, that's my name."

Patrick rolled his eyes and stated a muffled and sarcastic, ' _what else would it be?_ '. 

"...Pa'hick." 

"Wait, what? "

"My 'ame's Pa'hick."

"I think your- scarf's in the way, dude..."

The reporter tugged down his red scarf and sighed exasperatingly. "Patrick, Patrick, my name's Patrick, asshole." 

Pete laughed at the obscenity as if Patrick had told him a joke. It made Patrick's cheeks burn, but it wasn't because of his laugh, he told himself. He was just getting sick or something, probably because of that girl he interviewed or because he never dressed properly for the weather.

"I know your name, dude, you're a news reporter. You say your name like, every time you're on TV. But uh, can I call you 'Trick? " 

"No." 

More laughter. "Okay. Do you want to spend the rest of the afternoon with me, Patrick? I'll take you anywhere you wanna go, whatever you wanna do. We don't have to ice skate if you don't want to...." 

A bubble of admiration was blown and immediately popped in Patrick's chest in a matter of seconds. He wiped away his almost smile.

It's been a while since he's been asked out on a date, okay? 

He hesitated though, 'cause come on, his stalker was asking him out and the reporter wasn't even sure exactly who this guy was. Yes to a possibly fun night with Mystery G- Pete, he reminded himself, he finally had a name, or no to a possibly fun night with Pete and then having to watch shitty Christmas movies with Brendon while the guy made out with Ryan.

Fuck.

"...Let's just do what you wanted to do; I don't particularly care as long as we get some hot chocolate ASAP."

The guy was pretty attractive if Patrick was held at gunpoint and had to give his opinion (but regardless he shouldn't be thinking that, shit, they were just going ice skating and sightseeing, and he was still nonetheless a stalker). 

Pete actually smiled like a normal person, lips curling upwards and chocolate eyes seeming a little warmer than they were before. 

"I can arrange that."


	2. Love Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you staring at me? I can't really tell." He huffed out an amused breath and a smile followed soon after Pete's response.
> 
> "Well, yeah, have you seen yourself?"
> 
> Patrick raised a skeptical brow. "Is that a good or a bad-"
> 
> "Good. Definitely a good thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the extremely long wait! I really don't have a good enough reason for not updating; I just have not had one fucking ounce of motivation and once I start writing something, I think of other ideas for more stories and I forget about my current fic.
> 
> By the way, the characters are so goddamn OOC if you haven't noticed already, it's crazy-- Patrick's just an angry college kid that hates everyone and everything save for hot chocolate and Pete, I don't know I really tried but it doesn't seem like Pete to me. Tell me your opinion.

Patrick whipped out his phone, adding Brendon and Dirty to the message.  

_Going out with stalker guy. In case I get kidnapped or murdered, his name's Pete if it helps any._

Patrick typed sneakily, making sure Pete couldn't see. He stared at the message and shrugged with one shoulder, sending the text and shoving his phone back into his jeans as the other began speaking. "I work part-time at this really good coffee shop a couple blocks from here, it's called _Saporta's_. Sells the best freakin' hot chocolate in Chicago." The other stated in confidence, glancing to his right where Patrick was trying, but failing, to hide the brief shivers that wracked his body.

Fuck if he lets Pete know he's freezing his balls off.

"Cold?" Pete raised a thick eyebrow and half smiled.  

The newscaster glared down at the fresh snow dusting the light gray sidewalk and gave it a pathetic kick with his boot.  

"No, I'm just..."  

"Cold." Pete finished for him and laughed softly in good spirit. Patrick childishly mimicked him, making the other laugh again.

A sharp gust of wind cut across his face then, interrupting the black look he was sending Pete's way. With a soft gasp his whole body shook violently, from the top of his head all the way down his spine.  

Fuck you too, Chicago.  

Patrick knitted his eyebrows and rubbed his practically frostbit hands together so fast, he thought he could possibly create fire from the friction.  

"Not cold. Fine."  

"You sure? Want my coat?" Pete began to shed himself of his black, form-fitting winter coat that revealed a vintage-looking black and white Metallica hoodie underneath.  

It was tempting. Like, really fucking tempting.  

"I...keep it. I'm okay, really."  

A flash of concern flashed across Pete's face but he didn't insist, to which Patrick was grateful. Of course he wanted the coat, he wanted it so fucking bad, but no. That would send off the wrong message, would cause Pete to think Patrick was interested when he seriously wasn't.  

Seriously. He wasn't.

Patrick didn't really want to trust Pete, even though he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. _Still a stalker that kissed me without consent_ , he reminded himself. Okay, well, it was on his cheek, but it still counted.  

God, he sounded like a first grader.  

His phone buzzed, letting off a brief xylophone-sounding alert tone. Patrick knew it was Brendon, Dirty has never once replied to his texts since he'd met him a year ago, the dickhead.

_From: Brendon_

_Be safe ;)_

Of course Brendon had to make it sexual. Patrick made an unpleasant and very unattractive grunting noise, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Brendon? More like Bren- _done_  with this dumbass. He heard a deep chuckle afterwards.   

"Hey, stop laughing at my ugliness."   

"No, it's cute."   

Patrick glimpsed at Pete slipping his coat back on. Pete was staring at him, happy smirk present, then placed his hands in his coat pockets. Patrick noticed he left it unzipped and open; probably in case Patrick willingly asked for it.   

The gesture was small and barely meant a thing, but it made the newscaster smile softly.   

"Hey, I made you smile!" Pete licked the pad of his index finger and painted one imaginary line in front of him. " _One, Pete_ ," he mouthed, pointing to his chest and letting out a breathless chuckle. 

"Oh shut up."   

Pete smiled walked a little closer to Patrick, but the reporter pretended he didn't notice.

...But he so did, and a warm, tight feeling started to form in his chest. Which he totally ignored.   

"So Metallica, huh?"   

That caused Pete to grin, the simple inquiry causing the beginning of a rapid fire round of questions from Pete. Asking if Patrick listened to them, favorite song by the band, what other types of music he was into, who, what, when, where, why's. The eagerness and excitement radiating off of Pete made the newscaster chuckle a few times and shove the other's shoulder when he teased him about his Prince and Bowie obsession. 

"Hey, fuck you man, _Diamond Dogs_ was a great album."   

"I didn't bash it, Patrick!"   

"Yeah, but you were thinking it." Patrick squinted his blue eyes that were ringed with gold at Pete, on the verge of being playful.   

"...No I wasn't."   

"Ah! You hesitated. You were thinking it."   

Pete laughed at the reporter's seriousness and accusing finger being pointed at him. He nodded his head in guilt, aware he'd been found out.   

"I dunno, I'm... I'm just not a big fan of Bowie." Pete took note of the death glare Patrick was giving him at the moment, which made him begin to ramble. "But, I mean, he's-he's a cool guy, not that I don't like _him_ , his music just isn't my thing, you know? I like a few songs, just, not my favorite genre." Pete grabbed the back of neck anxiously. "Still dope music though." He added as an afterthought.

The reporter cocked his head at an almost sweating Pete.  Yeah, he guessed everyone was allowed to have their own opinion. Not everyone enjoys David Bowie's music like he does.  

But they should.   

The green of the park faded as the pair walked on toward the crowded part of town, comically blurting out music artists and bands to get to know what the other thought of them. They didn't pay attention to the strange glances a few people gave them, not when there were more pressing matters at hand. Like when they both initially saw Axl Rose they thought he was a bangin' chick.   

"Oh thank God, I thought I was the only one." 

"Nope. Hot then and still hot now."   

"Pft, _okay_. Whatever you say, Pete."   

Their conversation went on for about ten minutes until Pete stopped suddenly, causing Patrick to think he'd offended him somehow by impulsively uttering _Alkaline Trio_. The shorter man stuttered in his steps, about to ask Pete why he'd halted.   

Pete smiled, taking Patrick's agonizingly cold hand (he didn't seem fazed though) and lead him down a flight of cement stairs that went underground.   

His hand was only a bit smaller than Pete's and it fit comfortably, Patrick's thin, nimble fingers resting gently between Pete's thick, slightly calloused ones. Patrick looked down at the linked hands, noticing the huge difference in their skin tones.   

It was like Patrick had never seen the light of day compared to Pete.  

However, even with Pete's hand warming his own up, Patrick felt extremely apprehensive and slipped his hand out of the other's grasp without any struggle, taking in a breath.   

This was the shadiest fucking thing.   

Pete wasn't going to kidnap him, right? Like, he was cool with the idea when he texted it, but now that there was an actual, real possibility it could happen, Patrick was about to piss himself.  

They came to a plain black, somewhat weathered door and Pete set his hand on the handle, beginning to open the door for Patrick. He raised an eyebrow, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, cleared his throat and stayed right where he was.   

"Where the hell are we?"   

Pete stopped pushing the door, halfway opened and looked to Patrick, slightly confused. "Coffee shop? You wanted hot chocolate, right? Sorry it's kinda louche looking, the shop's just getting started and the owner hasn't had much time to fix up the whole place."   

Well, if there's rats Patrick is fucking _gone_.   

"Oh- I uh, yeah, that's cool," the reporter mumbled in slight embarrassment for jumping to conclusions, "as long as I-"   

"Hey, close that damn door! You're letting in all the cold air, _gilipollas_!"   

Patrick hurriedly jumped inside, warm air consuming him for the first time in three hours. He sighed, content smile taking over his lips.   

Bless Pete for bringing him here.   

"I am not a 'gilipolias'- whatever the hell that is." Pete muttered, letting the younger man by and letting the heavy door swing back into place on its own. "I took _French_  in high school, Gabe! Not fair!"   

Patrick shook his head and studied his surroundings, it was surprisingly a pretty cool place, despite the disreputable outside entrance. Professional, black and white, framed pictures of Chicago hanging on the black walls, plush, deep red- almost maroon, comfortable-looking chairs that made up for the cheap wooden tables. It had a modern, hipster-y, sort of city feel to it. Kind of.   

No rats or cockroaches, so far so good.   

Pete lead the way toward a Hispanic man who was leaning on the front counter, clothed in an apron that matched the color of the chairs with a white coffee cup symbol and the logo _Saporta's_  written in cursive on the breast. He was tall, a bit larger than average, but to Patrick, it was like Godzilla was standing right in front of him.  

Pete took hold of Patrick's shoulder gently. "This's Patrick. Patrick, that's Gabe. Don't worry Gabe, he doesn't bite."   

" _Actually_." Patrick corrected and glowered at Pete's hand that rested on his shoulder, then the vicious stare flew up to Pete's face.   Patrick barely heard a whispered, 'ooh, kinky', from the enormous man in front of them as Pete removed his hand.   

Pete just wiggled his eyebrows.  

Jesus Christ.   

Heat blossomed on the newscaster's face, turning his neck, cheeks, and the tips of his ears a soft pink. Patrick felt his mouth open, shut, then he bit both of his lips before settling on a glare. He's been doing that too much tonight.   

Gabe laughed, corners of his mouth and brown eyes crinkling, then clapped his hands twice at the pair in front of him, flashing a bright smile.   

"Sorry to break the sexual tension, but it was becoming too much for me. Pete, leave the poor guy alone with your twisted fantasies and, Patrick, is it?" Patrick nodded. "I'm sorry this fool has a crush on you. Gabe." The shop owner raised a large hand in front of himself, and Patrick swore if Gabe put that damn thing on his face, it would most likely smother him.   

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Pete scoff and raise both eyebrows, sarcastic smile following. "Gee, _thanks_."   

The blush calmed, his face a type of cotton candy pink, and he took Gabe's outstretched hand. He only got to shake it once until Gabe retracted his hand lightening fast.   

" _Ay_! Your hand's freezing, dude! We only live in Chicago, not the freakin' North Pole.... What d'you want? Coffee? An oven to thaw out your hands in?"   

Patrick laughed, pushed up his glasses with a finger, and shoved his gloveless hands into his jacket pockets, feeling around for his wallet.   

"Hot chocolate."   

"And an espresso. The usual."   

"Alright, so an espresso for the lady and a hot chocolate for you, sir?" Gabe asked Patrick, serious expression present. Pete responded by punching Gabe in the shoulder, muttering ' _dick_ ' under his breath and grinning.   

The reporter chuckled and nodded. He looked up at the large menu on the wall, located his beverage, then pulled out a five from his wallet to pay for his two dollar drink. Pete hurriedly removed his own five from his jeans pocket and dramatically, _loudly_ , slapped it down on the counter that Gabe had walked behind to punch in their order.   

"No Patrick, I'm paying. And no but's."   

Patrick looked around the café curiously to see if Pete's ruckus interrupted anyone, but the few people that were inside were probably the chillest people ever, barely reacting, and he slowly put the bill back into his wallet. A ghost of a smile haunted his lips.   

"Thanks."   

Pete copied the newscaster, lips curling upwards and nodding once.   

Patrick stared at Pete, raising a brow and cocking his head at his slight stubble that draped down the upper part of his neck, bushy but at the same time well-kept eyebrows, hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled-   

"-Okay! Four seventy-two."   

Patrick furrowed his browline, shook his head softly to rid himself of the daze he was in.   

What the hell was that? Pete _was_ pretty, but...

Ugh, Patrick can't be developing a crush on the guy; just, no.   

Patrick only sighed and removed his glasses as Gabe stuck the five into the register, using the hem of his shirt that was sticking out from underneath his jacket to wipe away any grime that had collected on them.   

The reporter never wanted to admit to being 'blind' when it came to not having his glasses on or contacts in. But like, he couldn't even make out where the creases on Pete's face ended and started and they were standing two feet away from each other, so he could get where his friends came from.   

Whatever.   

Patrick squinted at Pete while he cleaned the second lense. "Are you staring at me? I can't really tell." He huffed out an amused breath and a smile followed soon after Pete's response.   

"Well yeah, have you seen yourself?"   

Patrick raised a skeptical brow. "Is that a good or a bad-"   

"Good." Pete blurted out before Patrick even finished his sentence. " _Definitely_ a good thing." Patrick put his glasses back on and shook his head, smile growing when he saw the admiring look in Pete's dark eyes.   

When Gabe was finished making their drinks not long after, he handed them to the pair, straws with half the paper on the top. The newscaster studied his own beverage and noted that there was a cute (maybe a bit sloppy) little heart drawn on the surface using the cream put inside.   

Pete was busy ravishing his diabetes-in-a-cup and Patrick chuckled when the other man had gotten whip cream on his upper lip. 

"Pete, your..."   

Patrick's hand twitched at his side, a vision flashing through his mind where he wiped it off of his lip with his thumb and the smile that appeared afterwards made his breath hitch.   

_ Stalker. Just a date to humor the guy. Don't do anything stupid.    _

Right, inner asshole Patrick.   

Instead, he settled for tapping the bow of his own lip and handing him a napkin. Pete went cross-eyed and his tongue darted out to catch the sugary topping, then cleaned the leftover whip cream from his lip.   

The warmth of the cup caused Patrick to shiver, the cold evacuating through his pores quickly. He took a brief sip and oh good lord.   

He was coming back here every damn time he wanted hot chocolate. This shit was the bomb.   

"It's awesome, right?"   

"Oh Peter, you're too kind. I do try." Gabe interrupted, swatting at the air once between them with a fake, shy smile.  

"Shut up; I was asking Patrick. And- wait. I thought of the damn recipe you asshole!"   

"Oh, seems I've been exposed- I must go!" Gabe fleed to the back as he laughed, which caused Patrick to raise an eyebrow, sipping at his steaming beverage as the scene played out before him. "So, is he like, drunk or something?"   

"Nope. That's 100 percent, authentic Gabe."

The pair shared a few chuckles, before Patrick said a small "it is pretty awesome", which caused Pete to grin in triumph.   

"Don't get too full of yourself now." The newscaster said with a half smile.   

They nursed their drinks in rather comfortable silence, save for the loud voice that yelled " _go on your date already, los pájaros del amor_!" from the back of the café a beat later. Patrick wasn't as mad at the exclamation as he was amused at Pete's scrunched up, puzzled expression. An eyebrow shot upwards while half of his mouth quirked northeast. The newscaster only sipped his hot chocolate.   

"He said ' _amor_ ', which obviously means love, but what does ' _los pájaros_ ' mean? Patrick?"   

Patrick's smirk stayed and he nodded his head toward the door, forgetting the below zero weather as he led them outside. Pete trailed behind Patrick as they climbed the steps, who shivered the second they left the warmth of the coffee shop, catching up to the strawberry blond when they began walking once more. To where, Patrick didn't know.   

"Love birds."   

"Hmm?"   

"Gabe called us love birds," Patrick repeated, which earned a curious eyebrow from Pete.   

"Do you know any other languages?" Patrick thought this was going to become something similar to the music conversation again, but he was just fine with it. He liked talking to Pete, he liked answering his overexcited questions.   

"Yeah, I studied languages ever since I was a kid." Pete sipped his espresso, had a look that said, 'go on'. "Well, uh, my parents wanted me to be a scholar, wanted themselves to be proud parents of their kid who went to _Princeton_ or _Harvard_. When really all I did growing up was get decent grades, have great music taste, and make no use for knowing multiple languages whatsoever." Pete smiled alongside Patrick's chuckle.   

"Didn't live up to parents' expectations?"   

Patrick made a contorted ' _oh yeah_ ' expression.   

"I hear you." 

It was nice that someone knew how he felt for once. His friends remotely understood, or, as least they tried to. Patrick's been friends with the same smart, happy kids for years who haven't once had trouble with their grades or praise from their guardians. Not that Patrick was stupid, he got okay grades, or his parents didn't love him, because he knew they did. But the exasperated sighs that came from his mom and dad over his high school years began to make sense as they summed up into 'we're proud of you, but you should've tried harder'. When he went into broadcasting journalism only to make them happy, Patrick's brain shortened it into 'not good enough'.   

Pete paused. "...D'you wish could've done anything differently?"   

"No. I made a lot of mistakes but I don't regret making them."   

"Why?"   

"Because if I hadn't made them I wouldn't've learned how to make things right. I wouldn't be here today or be the person I am now. I wouldn't be with you right now. Would you have changed anything?"   

"If it means never getting to meet you, then not one thing."   

The reporter laughed softly, an oblivious smile appearing, letting puffs of gray air escape his parted lips and curl around his features before it turned invisible.   

" _Vous êtes si merveilleux_ ," Pete said, a besotted smile forming on his dry lips.   

You are so wonderful.   

Patrick's cheeks went pink, although not just because of the cold air blowing around them.   

"Ha, do you know French? I'm really praying you don't," Pete laughed, although waited for an answer.   

" _Serait-ce un problème si je le faisais_?" Patrick grinned cheekily, watching Pete smile like a fucking ecstatic idiot.   

"No, it wouldn't be a problem; but I hope you know you made me fall for you just a little more right now."   

"Only a little?" Patrick faked his dissapointment, grinning after Pete replied with, "Okay, maybe more than a little."   

Patrick laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologizing again because I'm so thankful for you guys even though it doesn't seem like it, I love all of you and really hope that you're not angry with me. And please don't be afraid to say what could make this story better. All kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> Translations:  
> • gilipollas- asshole  
> • los pájaros del amor- love birds  
> • Vous êtes si merveilleux.- You are so wonderful.  
> • Serait-ce un problème si je le faisais?- Would it be a problem if I did?


	3. Fogged Up Glasses and Too Many Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And before Patrick could pull away he stole a caress, thumbed at the reporter's cheekbone once, then removed his hand.
> 
> "You had some snow on your face."
> 
> And /you/ had some bullshit in your sentence.

The apparent "love birds" soon ended up at an abandoned lake that suburban families visited in the winter to teach their kids how to skate, with Patrick leading them. Sometimes Patrick gave free skating lessons, swimming too, since he hung out here almost all year round.

Although he never knew why he did, he really disliked children what with their fucking nonstop babbling and crying and whining.

But that was also like, three quarters of the human race, so maybe Patrick just hated people in general.

Probably.

That's most likely why all the squawking children came running and or skating toward him and Pete when they arrived, latching onto Patrick. They just kept coming like goddamn bees and grabbing and  _Lord help him_ , he fell backwards into an inch of powdery snow with two handfuls of kids clinging to his coat.

" _Dear God_ ," he mumbled in annoyance, then chuckled after a moment, "hey guys, what's up? You miss me?" The newscaster asked in a chipper tone, and was met with a thousand and one answers and voices, all positive. Patrick cracked a smile. "Okay, alright alright, yeah, I-- missed you guys too." He'd admit that he actually kind of did. Sort of.

The younger man attempted to sit up, but was pushed back down by the extra weight. Kids were scrabbling all over him-- a winter boot scraped and squished his hand, a sweaty hand caught in his hair, and a foot was dangerously close to his crotch. " _Oh_ , ow, okay guys you're on the verge of murdering me here, please get off-- I don't wanna die, it's almost Christmas and I want my presents."

The little people giggled and finally climbed off of Mount Patrick. The reporter stood up, brushing the snow off of him as he began to walk back over to Pete, wearing an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I--"

"Psst! Patrick!"

The newscaster looked curiously to his left to see a little girl that he taught to skate last year, one of the kids that he didn't really mind. He sighed with a small smile, stepping over to her and kneeling down to her level.

"What is it?"

"Patrick-- Patrick, I have a question."

"Well, okay, shoot kid."

"Is that man over there your  _boy_ friend?" She giggled, and Christ they weren't even ten feet away from Pete, damn it--

Patrick coughed and put a hand under his glasses and over his eyes, rubbing them, an embarrassed smile breaking out onto his features. "Uh, no. No, he's--"

"Do you  _love_ him? Are you gonna-- how old is he? What's his name, Patrick?"

"...His name's Pete." He answered the only question that he knew the answer to.

The girl gasped, her brown eyes lighting up with a matching smile.

...Wait, no-- Patrick knew that look from experience with teaching boys and girls how to skate at the same time--

"No,  _please_ \--"

"Patrick and Pe-te sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g! First comes love, then comes--" Patrick put a gentle hand over her mouth to shut her the  _hell_ up, tightening his lips and closing his eyes in slight annoyance.

 _Nothing. Nothing comes after love, little girl_.

"Shh. Just-- shh."

The girl laughed underneath Patrick's hand then skipped away, back to where some other kids were attempting to build a slightly deformed, two-tier snowman. The newscaster groaned and collapsed on his side in the snow, a couple seconds later hearing a soft ' _poof_ ' next to him. Patrick rolled over, met with Pete's ostensibly always-smiling face.

"Well, kids seem to like you."

"You say that like it's surprising."

Pete laughed. "You just never struck me as the type of person who enjoys kids."

"Pft," Patrick rolled his eyes and then shifted his body to get more comfortable, "I don't; I'm cursed. Kids absolutely love me, I just put up with it."

The taller man smirked and reached over slowly, straightening Patrick's glasses and wiping snowflakes off of them. And before Patrick could pull away, he stole a caress, thumbed at the reporter's cheekbone once then removed his hand.

"You had some snow on your face."

And _you_ had some bullshit in your sentence.

"...I'm extra cursed because I also have to put up with you, too."

The Metallica lover clutched his chest dramatically. "Ow."

"Good."

Pete chuckled and interrupted himself by inhaling shakily, teeth chittering loudly. "My ass is so wet, man."

"Maybe it wasn't the best idea to lay in the snow..."

"It's a good idea if I get to lay next to you."

Patrick made a disgusted noise and mumbled a ' _Jesus_ ' that made Pete grin.

"...Hey, come on," the smaller hit Pete's chest lightly with the back of his hand, "let's skate." Patrick stood up and wiped the particles of snow off of his back and butt, Pete only sitting up, a confused expression written all over his face.

"Without skates?"

"Without skates."

The elder whined but regardless stood up and copied Patrick's motions, shaking off the melted snow from his hands and shoving them back into his coat pockets.

Must be _nice_.

Patrick rolled his eyes at his own internal self-pity and dragged Pete toward the frozen lake that was filled with young children. "Hey, Patrick? Not to sound like, a loser or anything, but I'm kinda like-- sorta, _terrifiedofskating_ \--"

"Don't worry, I'll teach you." Patrick assured although not looking at Pete, he was studying the lake to find a rather abandoned spot to teach a fucking full grown man how to skate. And ice skating was his idea in the first place, why would he even remotely  _mention_ it if he didn't know how?

The newscaster sighed, a doting smile forming on his lips.

Patrick asked Pete why he suggested skating if he didn't enjoy it, Pete sheepishly explaining that he thought he wouldn't get this far. He never thought Patrick would actually go on this date with him, and, okay, Pete's stupid flush was admittedly adorable.

The wind and snow picked up while the pair trudged to the unoccupied corner of the lake, so much that Patrick removed his glasses because having to clean them every two and a half seconds didn't sound that appealing to him. Pete opened his mouth to say something-- _probably something about how cute he was without his glasses_ \--and Patrick shot him a deadly look. Pete closed his mouth and the reporter triumphantly raised his eyebrows with a smile and continued strolling along.

"...Cute."

Patrick's smile curdled in record speed. "I'll punch you in the throat, Pete. I really fucking will."

"Will you, though?"

" _Yeah_."

Pete shoved Patrick with his padded shoulder and raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile.

"I fucking will!"

"No you won't."

"Actually, yeah, you're right, I won't. I'll just shove your ass into the snow."

"Wh--"

The younger man bodyslammed Pete with his shoulder, sending him down into the soft, cushiony snow. He laughed happily, but quickly cut himself off with a gasp as the other karate chopped behind both of his knees, causing him to be knocked down right next to Pete. Patrick collapsed with the back of his head hitting the hard ground, wincing slightly at the initial pain but when he looked over and was met with Pete's suddenly worried look, he made a 'psh' sound, dismissing it, and grinned softly.

"Fuckin' dick," Patrick commented, gray carbon dioxide sent out on a mission towards Pete's features. He stared at the other a little longer than needed as his adrenaline-pumped pants calmed down.

"You caused this, Patrick."

"Did not."

"Tell that to the bruise on my shoulder."

Patrick paused for a few seconds, then mumbled a ' _did not_ ' to Pete's shoulder. Pete snorted.

"I don't think you're supposed to get all quarterback on the first date, I think that's on the second or third," Pete joked, grinning widely and standing up first, holding out a hand to Patrick to assist him. Patrick, after a brief civil war in his head, took the calloused, wet, cold hand, almost slipping but the other held tight. He put his glasses back on and smirked softly when he was brought up to his full height where he could see the individual snowflakes falling onto Pete's appled cheeks.

"Oh, fuck off."

Patrick led Pete to the relinquished corner of the lake, stopping at the edge and unraveling their fingers. He turned to the other, red nose sniffling once with a cocky smile appearing. "You ready? Or are you too chicken shit?"

Pete placed his foot on the ice, then ripped it away as if it were lava. " _Fuck_ that, I'll say I'm chicken shit as many times as you want me to before I skate on this without skates. I don't even know how to skate anyway!"

"Well, I guess we have a lot of work cut out for us, then."

Pete whined but allowed the newscaster to tug him onto the body of water. He stumbled, slipping and trying to get some sort of friction, but failed and pulled Patrick down with him onto the ice. The reporter landed on top of Pete horizontally while Pete fell vertical, Patrick's chest and Pete's stomach getting to know each other on a very personal level. Patrick narrowed his eyes at the other, not pissed, just in a ' _wow are you fuckin' kidding me_ ', type of way.

"You got one foot on the ice and fell in under two seconds," Patrick paused to rub the bridge of his nose with one finger, "that's got to be a damn record somewhere."

Pete smiled softly and reached out, apologetically fixing Patrick's crooked glasses once again.

After scoffing at the repeated cheesy gesture the reporter smiled and bounced back up enthusiastically, gliding a bit with shoes instead of skates. Pete's eyes were abnormally wide at the action and Patrick laughed, skillfully sliding backwards using the two-inch heels of his boots.

No, they weren't women's boots, he just liked to feel tall sometimes.

"What?"

Pete gave him a look like he was crazy and laughed in bafflement, shaking his head as he slowly stood back up, wobbling very much like a game of Jenga that was about to end.

"You're missing out," Patrick teasingly sang, just barely stepping out of Pete's reach when the other put out a hand for him. However after a moment, the newscaster felt guilty and took Pete's hand in his own, leading and pulling him up when he was about to fall.

Patrick reminisced memories he had here when he was younger, with Pete's nervous but happy laughter in the background, and stray children giggling as Patrick tugged the other along, smaller hand gripped tightly onto larger and slightly rougher.

_A chubby dwarf Patrick sniffled and wiped his already leaking nose with his blue, knit gloves. "Dad, I wanna--"_

_"Hey look buddy, I know you wanna skate, and we will."_

_Patrick contorted his face into absolute, pure confusion that only a five year old could create. See, to Patrick, there was only one way, one_ right _way, to do everything. To brush one's teeth, they had to draw small circles with the bristles. To go to bed, one had to cuddle with Ally the Alligator and read_ The Hungry Caterpillar _beforehand. And to skate, one had to have their blue ice skates covered in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle stickers. There was just no other way._

_"Look Pat, call me crazy--"_

_"You're crazy."_

_Dad laughed loudly and ruffled his blond hair, pushing Patrick's matching blue hat over his pudgy features. "You're right, I probably am, kiddo. But... let's try, skating without our skates, yeah?"_

_Patrick fixed his hat, small pink nose poking out, followed by adorably chubby cheeks. "But how're we gonna move?"_

_"How we always do when we skate. I'll show you Pat-- look." Dad stepped onto the ice and wobbled, then caught his balance before he fell. He stretched out a hand and Patrick took it, tiny plump hand enveloped in the much bigger one. Patrick gasped in excitement and fascination, copying dad's foot movements._

_After a while, when they were too tired and damp and sore from falling multiple times to continue, Patrick rode on dad's shoulders back to the truck._

_"Hey bud?"_

_"Mm?"_

_"Don't tell your mom we did that, okay? It can be our secret." Patrick nodded weakly, exhausted from the day's adventures. He put a stubby finger to his lips and_ ssh _'ed before he fell asleep six feet above the ground on strong, broad shoulders, practically invincible to the biting wind with his ten layers of clothes he was made to wear._

They brought their skates every time after that, but they always left them in the car.

Patrick smiled, staring down at the ice below his feet.

"Uh, Patrick, Patr- _Patrick_ please help me-- dear God--"

The newscaster blinked out of his flashback and kicked the ice with his heel to slide the short distance toward a troubled Pete. He clasped onto Patrick like a frightened kid, clutching his arm with brute strength.

"If I go down, I'm taking you with me. Again."

"Fair enough. Hey, Pete, I-- dude, calm the fuck  _down_. No, no don't do that-- Pete-- I-- _look at me,_ damn it." Patrick finished with a soft chuckle and a grin. He reached over with his free hand and gripped the other's cheeks lightly, turning Pete's head gently, making him crane his neck in Patrick's direction.

"No," he said poutily with squished cheeks.

"No to calming down? Or not wanting to be on the ice?" The newscaster grinned, letting go of the other's face.

"Both. Patrick, you're seriously crazy. Shit, I'm gonna die. I can feel it."

He pried Pete's hands from his bicep and forearm and put one in his own hand. "I won't let go, if that makes you feel better."

A kid no more than ten skated right past the struggling pair, then rotated and slid backwards, giving Pete mocking smirk as he exited the scene.

"Oh, _fuck_ y-- Patrick, teach me how to skate so I can destroy that little shit."

The reporter shook with laughter and covered his mouth, giggling harder when Pete attempted to move forward without any assistance, almost falling on his face.

Pete, after some reassurance that Patrick would help him get the self-centered child, relaxed significantly and let out a deep breath, squeezing Patrick's hand. Pete then proceeded to, throughout the whole time they skated, make  _Titanic_ references, clutching Patrick's pale hand with both of his once in a while and promising that "he'd never let go, 'Trick". He laughed the whole time.

"...Y'know, you're a good teacher. And it's a bonus, because you're really cute when you're concentrated and you stick out your tongue like that."

" _Okay_ , Pete."

"I'm serious."

"Okay."

"I am!"

The pair skated, slid, whatever-ed, around the lake for quite some time, wet with melted snow and sweat. White, frozen crystals flew onto their faces and into their hair, melting immediately, and they cackled whenever they flopped down or bumped into small children or other pairs.

-

Pete kissed the corner of his dry, cracked lips when they fell down for what felt like the thirty second time, the sky turning purple mountain majesty and melon colored.

Patrick's glasses fogged up slightly and he stopped, a ringing sound echoing in his ears for a split second.

And then he smiled uncontrollably, pushing Pete off in shock and delight with a fond laugh.

" _Motherfucker_."

Pete grinned that fucking horse grin of his, and in that moment, Patrick couldn't remember the last time someone looked at him so admiringly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD JUST SORRY, I know I haven't updated in like twenty two years and I apologize for leaving you guys hanging for so long like this. :( I hope you guys can forgive me!


End file.
